


Yours to command

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Rickyl, prison era, season three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: Maybe it had been a misunderstanding, maybe not. Maybe Rick was being a supercilious ass, maybe not. But be that as it may, Daryl had had enough. He vanished to go on a hunt, left Rick to lie through his teeth about not being worried about Daryl’s long absence -- and when he returned, it was time to clear the air. Well, not really, ‘cause Daryl just went into hiding AGAIN…Rick would always find him, though ;)Time: This starts with the scene where Rick, Hershel and Daryl interrogate Michonne in episode 3.07 “When the dead come knocking”. There are also a few direct quotes from the episode.Schedule: Every second/third day. The fic is complete, though, so you don’t need to worry :)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. Control

**Author's Note:**

> Sheesh, I wonder when I’m done with the ‘getting together’ trope. Probably never. Love to read ‘em, love to write ‘em. So, sorry-not-sorry, here’s another one with the theme “how could Rick and Daryl possibly get over themselves, see the light, and end up together”. Hope you enjoy the journey :)
> 
> Also, AO3 should definitely have a seventh warning tag, “Enough fluff to rot your teeth”. I’d use it with this fic ;) Consider yourselves forewarned!
> 
> Plus, all the usual disclaimers about not owning TWD, English not being my first language, etc etc.  
> And a great big thank you to my lovely beta <3

The prison hummed with foreboding and apprehension, and the air in the common room was downright electric. Hershel was almost sure Rick would’ve preferred he leave, but he was supposed to patch up the stranger and he wasn’t going to go anywhere. Maggie and Glenn hadn’t returned, instead they’d gotten this silent stranger carrying baby formula. No, he sure wasn’t going anywhere until the mystery was solved. His old mouth tightened to a grim line behind all those layers of white facial hair. 

The ones who remained back in the cell block didn’t feel like they had any right to make idle chit-chat. All the airwaves in the whole wide building were reserved for the four people in the common room. Carol glanced towards the cell where the baby was sleeping soundly -- an asskicker if there ever was one, Daryl’d been right about that. She leaned on the table, and Carl stood frozen by the stairs. 

Beth was the only one of them sitting down, too terrified to have full command of her limbs. Her eyes threatened to well up all the time, she was hanging by a thread. Carl’s steps were awkward as he eventually ambled to her, put his thin arms around her shoulders to console her. Beth didn’t even notice, she was too busy fighting back a hysterical burst of tears. 

In the other room, alarm bells had started to ring louder in Michonne’s mind. The man with the intense eyes and a hand hovering close to his gun was speaking, and he spoke so very calmly it wreaked havoc on Michonne’s nerves. The Governor had also been a smooth talker. And some of the people she’d met before she ran into Andrea… She swallowed. No, she didn’t trust people who had perfect command of their voice and whose eyes revealed nothing. Although, to be fair, the blue eyes of this leader here, they weren’t calm and collected -- no, his eyes were wild and it took obvious effort to keep himself under control. She didn’t know what to make of that.

Anyhow, the way things were, she almost trusted the other man more, the one with the unwavering crossbow and the restless steps and the quivering muscles and the eyes that didn’t simply stay on her but darted to their leader, all the time they kept flicking to the dark-haired man. This guy didn’t try to hide what he was. 

Daryl shifted on his feet again, and threw another glance at Rick and had no idea that his pent-up, jittery behavior made Michonne trust him _more_ , not less, and wouldn’t have believed it even if he’d known about it. He kept the crossbow steady as a rock, aimed straight between the eyes of this weird stranger. He was stressed out to hell an’ back, what with all the shit that’d been goin’ on with Rick, and then there was the baby, and now Maggie an’ Glenn, FUCK! 

A growl came out of Daryl’s throat, low and threatening and savage, like he couldn’t control it, and it vibrated in the air, on the iron bars, on the concrete walls. In the cellblock, Carol pricked her ears -- Daryl was angry. She took a few useless paces closer to the steel bar door of the block, stopped, crossed her arms, took a firmer hold of herself. Mostly just for Beth’s benefit, the girl was nervous enough without an adult biting her nails by her side.

In the common room, Rick was almost at the end of his tether. Getting information from the stranger was like pulling teeth. She was suspicious, he was suspicious, everybody was goddamn suspicious. The old Rick would never have done it, would never have tortured a wounded woman, pressed his hand so hard on her wound she’d cry out, and all simply because she wouldn’t answer his question within the first second. The future Rick would do much worse things; maybe it was a blessing he might still write this off as yet another symptom of his current craziness, and not an irrevocable change in his soul. 

But, back to the interrogation, to the worried Hershel waiting patiently, to the wary hunter hellbent on not letting anything happen to Rick because he really didn’t trust the scowling samurai, to the timebomb that was their leader. 

As usual, Daryl was backing Rick up, no questions asked. The deadly bolt was within inches of her face.

“You’d better start talkin’, or you’re gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound.” 

Daryl’s worry crackled with barely contained fury, and Michonne’s lips tightened to a soundless snarl. She wouldn’t be bullied into talking.

“Find ‘em yourself,” she growled.

Hershel’s eyes darted to the hunter. Daryl wouldn’t shoot anyone just out of spite -- but Michonne didn’t know that. Rick didn’t even glance at the archer, he needed to calm the situation the fuck DOWN this instant, show the stranger that there was order in this tiny community. So he did what he’d done before, and it was efficient and it was the right choice -- and it was the wrong choice. It would just take some time until he’d find out.

He held out his hand towards Daryl without even looking at him, his eyes were on Michonne all the time, watching her reactions. A calming, shushing sound poured over his lips, directed at the archer. 

“Hey, shh, shh….put it down.” His hand patted down, like coaxing a petulant puppy to obey and lie down. 

None of them saw any incongruence between Rick’s instinctive, unquestioned choice to _hurt_ the woman, and this calm need of his to show he could command, with a flick of his little finger, the temperamental archer, prevent him _from_ hurting the woman. 

Daryl didn’t think twice, he backed down, as Rick had known he would. Rick maintained eye contact with the woman like he was trying to control her by the sheer intensity of his stare -- but enough stuff had happened to her before to let her be affected by it. Michonne decided to talk but not because she was scared, or even impressed by Rick’s command of the hunter. No, it was the quiet, pleading look from the old man, frail on his crutches, and somehow it didn’t come as a surprise to her when she later heard the man was the girl’s father. 

She could relate to the distress of a parent. Not that these people needed to know that.

When Rick finally had enough information, he turned around, gave one short glance -- quick as a lightning, almost cursory -- to Daryl, and the hunter fell into step just behind him, seamlessly, without hesitation. 

Something was brewing in Daryl’s head, though, something uncomfortable. But the way things were going, he didn’t get to think about it ‘til a few days later. Only then -- the second everything was more or less stable with Maggie and Glenn back, with his no-good brother (minus a hand) behind lock an’ key -- did he leave for a hunt. Didn’t look back, didn’t see Rick’s eyes follow him.


	2. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you darlings :) Sorry it's so short -- the next one (up on Wednesday) will be much, much longer, I promise.

Daryl was gone for two days -- something he’d never done before. Rick wasn’t great at keeping a poker face, not with stuff like this. Not with one of his family out of his sight. A nagging little worm of a thought tried to insinuate itself into his thoughts: not with _Daryl_ out of his sight.

But the archer was a grown man and in spite of what had happened with the Governor, superbly capable of taking care of himself. That was what he replied to Glenn’s worried questions, to Merle’s concerned tirades, to Carol’s raised eyebrows. 

Maggie called his bluff, cornered him on the second day, demanded to know why Rick wouldn’t just admit he was worried. Nothing wrong with being worried about him, she said. Nothing wrong with missing him, she said. Maggie’s eyes were kind and her eyebrows had a knowing quirk to them, but Rick had no idea what it was that she thought she knew.

No idea at all. 

To make the matter even more incomprehensible, a few hours later Lori’s phantom flickered beside him as he was on guard duty at the tower by the gate, and she had that same look, sprinkled with a dose of frustration. 

_I am gone_ , she seemed to be saying. _Forgive me. Forgive yourself. Let me go. You don’t need to be alone._

Rick’s face was blank, his fingers twitched, a shudder ran through him and forced a few tears out of his eyes. His gaze drifted from the flickering wraith to the windows. He saw blurry movement somewhere near the edge of the woods. He blinked and blinked, tried to put Lori’s imaginary words out of his mind and concentrate on the present danger, focused his eyes, blinked again to get the last tear to trickle down his face… And there was Daryl, filthy and alive, strolling towards the prison.

If Rick had seen himself, he’d have gotten the meaning of Maggie and Lori’s words that much sooner. But heaven knew that man could be dense sometimes, unaware of his thoughts and feelings, just as he could be unaware of the effect some of his actions had had on the hunter. No wonder Maggie had tried to force some sense into him; no wonder even the ghost of Lori was frustrated. 

Somewhere in the abyss of Rick’s mind sharp perception simmered, leaking out through phantoms and specters. Would an actual ghostly Lori have been as understanding? From beyond the grave, maybe -- perhaps Death’s scythe would’ve peeled away petty feelings, snobbish thoughts, resentment, selfishness, and only the essence of Lori would’ve remained. The Lori Rick had fallen in love with so, so many years ago. Bright and sharp, loving and supportive.

But, as it was, Rick was on his own, didn’t even try to figure out the meaning of the jolt in his belly, quiver in his heart. _Daryl’s alive_ , was the first, soft thought, and it brought a smile to his face. He did notice the smile, but only after it’d vanished, replaced by a strain of a furious frown. _What the fuckin’ HELL were you thinkin’_ , he screamed in his mind at Daryl. _You couldn’t let me know you’d be gone this long?_

By the time Rick opened the gate and ranted at the archer, however, the ‘me’ in that thought had changed into a more socially acceptable ‘us’. Daryl was ashamed of causing worry but he was unsure how to explain himself. Rick insisted on knowing why the hunter hadn’t said anything, Rick wanted answers, he was in Daryl’s face, in his personal space, sapphire blue glinting so bright it made Daryl squint.

And then something bubbled over, a part of the reason Daryl had left on his own, even though he still struggled to put it into words. The deep growl of his voice stopped Rick in his tracks.

“I ain’t yours to command,” Daryl blurted, pushed Rick aside and strode towards the inner gates. 

Rick was too surprised at Daryl’s reaction to do anything but watch him go. Maggie met the hunter half-way to the inner yard, gave a welcoming grin which Daryl ignored in his baffled fury. She came to take over the gate duty with a furrow between her elegant eyebrows.

“What’s with him, anyway?”

Rick had no answer to that. But he would have. Maybe Daryl wasn’t _his to command_ \-- and what was that even supposed to mean? -- but fuck if he was going to let anything interfere with the way they worked together, the smooth, effortless flow of it. They were friends, weren’t they? So Daryl just had to suck it up and put whatever was eating him into actual words!

Not for a single second did Rick consider that there was anything _he_ might’ve done to cause this.


	3. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Saturday. I hope this chapter will keep you going until then ;)

It took almost an hour for Rick to find Daryl. The hunter sat on the roof on some kind of a platform that served who knew what purpose. His bare arms were wrapped around his bent legs, shower-damp hair messy after only a perfunctory brush of his fingers. They still had a few hours before the sun would sink behind the treetops and it was warm on the roof even though it was already August, or thereabouts.

Rick sat down on the platform as well, legs dangling off the edge. His arm brushed against Daryl’s. There weren’t many other people Rick would instinctively sit so close to -- not that he ever thought about it. Nor did he think about how Daryl never let anyone else stay so near. Hugs and pats and the occasional kiss on the cheek from Carol -- yes. Long-term contact -- no. Except for Rick. 

Somewhere over the rainbow, beyond the grave, through the veil, the ghost of Lori rolled its eyes.

They stayed silent. Rick would’ve wanted to talk but he didn’t know what to say, where to start. Daryl hadn’t been this...this _erratic_ for a long, long time, and Rick couldn’t read him at all right now. In the end, it was the hunter who spoke first.

“Ya got somethin’ ya wanna say?” Daryl’s gaze was firmly on the barbed wire that covered the low walls of the rooftop.

“Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. You were gone too long for my peace of mind,” Rick said, surprised at the words and the soft tone of his voice. This hadn’t been what he had intended to say, not at all. He’d come here to grill Daryl until he’d find out the reason for his behavior. However, it seemed his mouth had its own agenda.

“Hunh.”

“I was worried.” Again with the soft tone, and not even a tiniest dose of the reproach Rick had wanted to express. 

“Ya ain’t gotta worry about me,” Daryl snorted, but he didn’t sound mad.

“Maybe I don’t have to but I still do. Shit happens, as you well know.”

“Ya got enough folk here.” The words came out with a low drawl, and somehow Rick got the real meaning behind them.

“You ain’t replaceable.” Rick’s mouth had a life of its own, and now his hand did, too. It brushed aside strands of Daryl’s unruly hair, and the hunter let him. Then, of course, things took a turn for the worse, and Rick didn’t see it coming at all. 

Daryl didn’t, either, until something flipped, and in his mind the gentle touch turned into yet another instance of what had pushed him to leave. Pushed him to have a little time to reconsider the nature of things. 

Pushed him to want to _make_ Rick see what was wrong with the system they had going between the two of them. Because Daryl couldn’t live with it anymore. His sense of worth was wobbly as it was.

His heart fluttered like crazy as Rick kept brushing his hair. It was all wrong and all...good, at the same time. What if what he had to say would get Rick so mad at him, they’d never spend time like this again? What if Daryl wasn’t his second-in-command anymore? What if the way Rick was, was the only way he knew how to be? What if he didn’t _want_ to understand the problem Daryl had with it?

These days, the hunter had friends and family for real -- he had Carol and the others, even Merle, such as he was. _But Rick was…_ Daryl’s fingers tingled. _Rick was…_

So, since the old Dixon reflexes were by no means not yet all dead an’ gone, Daryl did what he’d been conditioned to do for decades. He flinched, and with the speed of a fierce alley cat he pushed Rick’s hand away. He got _angry_. 

“What-?” Rick said, baffled by the sudden change in his friend.

“Ain’t a pet,” Daryl snarled, angrier at Rick than he’d been since… well, _ever_. Angrier than he’d been at the quarry, or on the Atlanta rooftop, or any time since.

Rick strove to find words, _any_ fricking words! Where was this coming from? His mouth was hanging open and it could’ve been funny, but neither of them saw anything remotely hilarious in the situation. 

“I didn’t think you were.” Rick looked at him with cautious eyes.

“So stop treatin’ me like a fuckin’ puppy!” Daryl shouted, hopped down from the platform and paced back and forth like a caged panther.

“You gotta help me out here, Daryl,” Rick pleaded, entreated. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong…”

Contrary to the popular belief, Daryl could talk just fine. On occasion, Rick might’ve even called him talkative to a degree. He wasn’t much for small talk but every now and then, when everything was _just so_ , and they were stranded in a building waiting out a random herd to pass, or enjoying a peaceful moment leaning on a rail of a guard tower, then it was easy for him to coax Daryl to chat about this an’ that. 

Why he was considered quiet and withdrawn by most of the others was that there was always a _reason_ to it when he opened his mouth. This here was a case in point.

The hunter stopped in front of Rick, glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, ya don’t?” he growled. “‘s that right? A trained cop an’ ya say ya don’t know whatcha doin’? Ya ever did that with Shane? With the other cops? With your other friends? Ain’t seen ya do that with Carol, or Glenn, so _shut the fuck up_ with yer crap!”

“D-do _what_ with them?” This was surreal. Rick’s head was spinning. The only thing he’d done was to relish the feel of Daryl’s hair as it had slid over his fingers, and yeah, not much of _that_ with Carol or Shane… but what-

Daryl leaned towards him, tilted his body a little so that his furious face was only inches from Rick’s startled eyes. Daryl crowded the other man, used his wide shoulders and strong arms to assert himself.

“Ya ever think how it _looks_?” Daryl hissed. “Ya ever think how it _feels?_ To be on the receivin’ end of it?” 

He pulled back all of a sudden, ran his fingers through the damp hair, strode to the wall, paced back, squirming with frustration. Rick pushed himself down from the platform, slow and careful, as nonthreatening as possible. 

“Daryl, you lost me.” Rick made his voice soft and calm, his movements fluid and friendly as he held out his hand, palm down, _calm calm calm.._. There was a fleeting vision from years back, when he’d approached a runaway dog shuddering in a blind alley, scared and snarling. This’d been his voice, his body language. He nearly smiled at the passing memory-

“There! That’s what I mean!” Daryl yelled at him, yanking the memory from under Rick so fast it almost made him stumble.

Daryl slapped Rick’s hand away, didn’t mean it to sting but Rick winced all the same. He tried another approach, instilled a little bit of iron and authority in his tone.

“I’d like to know why you think I’ve earned your slaps. Please explain it to me. I’d like to have the opportunity to apologize, or to give my point of view. That ain’t easy when I don’t even know why you’re suddenly dead set on trying to rip me a new one. I thought we were friends, Daryl. Has that changed?”

Rick’s voice got colder by the word. Maybe it wasn’t his intention but there you were, intentions didn’t count, just the results. 

Daryl tore his gaze from Rick, he was a sucker for that deep sapphire glow and he knew it, and he didn’t want to see that blue turn to ice. Rick’s smooth Southern drawl had an edge to it now; Daryl didn’t know if he could handle the cold gaze on top of it. 

He’d fucked this up, just like he’d thought he would. The price he’d pay for wanting to hang on to the woefully few bits and pieces of his dignity. Not that he’d had any, Before, so it would’ve been easy to return to that. But no, nooo, he had to try to change -- _as if you could_ , Merle sneered in his mind just as effectively as he did in the flesh -- and now Rick was disappointed, Rick was angry, Rick wouldn’t trust him anymore. Daryl had hit him for fuck’s sake! 

His self-esteem had been spiking ever since the farm, each spike going just a little bit higher, and it was all thanks to his new family. To Rick. The problem with it was that what went up sure as fuck came down just as easy. And lately, that had been because of Rick, too.

He exhaled quickly, puffed air out of his mouth, latched his gaze on Rick and searched for some frickin’ inner peace. Zen. Goddamn zen! He forced his breath to calm down, ordered his heart to beat slower.

“Rick…” And then it hit him. He frowned. “Ya really don’t see it, dontcha?”

“See _what_?” 

Both of them fought to cool things down. Rick laid his hand on Daryl’s arm, like a test to see if the hunter socked him in the jaw, ‘cause Rick was no wimp, no siree! His courage was duly rewarded; Daryl didn’t punch him, didn’t even pull back.

“What have I done to offend you, Daryl?” Rick asked, voice quiet, borderline desperate. There was more he would’ve liked to add but he couldn’t get the words out. _I apologize for it all -- anything, everything, please forgive me. I’d never do anything to hurt you. You’re my friend. You’re important to me. I need you. Please tell me so we can fix this. Daryl, please…_

And maybe Daryl heard it all, because his gaze stopped blazing, went back to the smoky blue Rick had grown so fond of.

Now Daryl had his chance to say his piece. He cleared his throat, wondered where to start. He didn’t think he’d have the guts to do this ever again so he had to get it right the first time. 

Rick’s thumb circled on his skin, slow and soft; maybe this was another one of Rick’s tricks but Daryl couldn’t muster up any anger for some reason.

“Ya shush me,” he blurted. _Great. That should do it. Real exhaustive, nice goin’, Dixon!_

“I shush you,” Rick echoed, and it was apparent the man had no idea what Daryl was talking about.

“Yeah, ya shush me,” Daryl said again, with some more force and righteous indignation. “Good Lord, Grimes, dontcha hear what comes outta yer mouth when ya talk to me? Ya fuckin’ _shush_ me! You...you _subdue_ me, you order me around like ya were trainin’ a fuckin’ puppy! Ya don’t even _look_ at me, ya just… just hold out your hand and show me my goddamn place! I ain’t no damn _dog_ , ya hear?”

Rick listened; Daryl had no idea what was going on behind the sapphire blue. So he went on, more calm now that he’d gotten the worst out.

“Ain’t like I don’t know what I am, Rick. A goddamn mess, that’s what I am. But I thought you...trusted me, alright? I thought ya did. I thought ya… kinda respected me, even.” 

The mere thought was still preposterous enough to cause him to blush a little and avert his eyes for a moment. But then the stubborn Dixon streak forced him to fix his eyes on Rick again. 

“Ain’t like I’m some kinda expert on this people stuff, or how you’re supposed to treat people you respect… but it don’t feel good, to be, to be _gagged_ like that. Ya ain’t doin’ that to no-one else, either. I don’t see them adults downstairs shushing at each other. So what is it about me, Grimes? Why d’ya think it’s ok with _me_?”

“But I, I don’t...” Rick practically spluttered. Not indignant, just monumentally stunned.

“Yeah, ya do,” Daryl said, gentle this time. He waited. Rick’s turn now.

Rick chewed on his lower lip. Daryl’s gotta be wrong. Rick wasn’t like that, was he? He respected the hell out of the hunter, he thought Daryl knew it without the smallest doubt. Rick could be obtuse sometimes, wasn’t like he didn’t know it -- Lori had helpfully pointed that out any number of times -- but surely he didn’t… 

Surely he wasn’t off-handed with Daryl? Condescending somehow? Surely he didn’t brush him aside the way Daryl claimed he did?

Surely not?

“I really do that?” he asked, words coming out with difficulty.

“Yeah, ya do,” Daryl said again.

Rick pulled his hand away and leaned back against the platform, brow furrowed, eyes looking somewhere, anywhere but at Daryl. He didn’t look upset with Daryl, just upset in general, so Daryl conjured up the rest of his courage and went to him, leaned on the platform by his side. 

Daryl would always give Rick the benefit of the doubt; now that he’d said what he’d needed to say, and Rick seemed to be taking it to heart and seemed to try process it, Daryl’s anger was gone. He’d wait and hope for the best. He still trusted Rick. Daryl being Daryl, he never would’ve talked about this in the first place if he didn’t feel it’d be worth the risk.

Rick shifted; their arms brushed. Funny how that kept happening. Daryl reminded himself that sorta thing had got to stop if and when they’d let Merle out. His brother would just run his mouth, an’ Rick didn’t deserve to hear that kinda trashtalk. Not that Daryl exactly enjoyed it either, but at least he was used to his loudmouth of a brother.

Also, he just… didn’t want to hear Merle tarnish this. It was a nice thing they had going, this proximity thing, and Daryl had never had anything like it. However, he’d rather give it up than see it stomped on, made into something dirty and ridiculous. He’d rather give this up and keep the warm memories, than see Rick flinch away from him because of Merle’s cackle. 

He gave a lazy kick to some pebbles. Their arms brushed again. 

Rick sighed and rubbed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, which was always a dead giveaway that the man wasn’t loving whatever he’d been thinking.

“Maybe you’re right, Daryl. Maybe...yeah, I remember... An’ I get how it might feel like I’m talking down to you, or… shit, I don’t even wanna say it, Daryl! Treat you like a dog? Jesus Christ, Daryl... I don’t think I’m the kind of a person who’d do that! Especially not to someone like you...no, never to _you_ , Daryl. You’re my friend, and I trust you, I trust your judgment, and frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Daryl had a hard time meeting the sincere glow of Rick’s gaze but he didn’t want to appear weak so he kept looking back at him. 

The leader of the group had a bullet to bite, and he already hated the taste of it.

“However… you’re not wrong.” Rick sighed. “Back in Atlanta, at the quarry, on the farm… you seemed to respond well to the way I acted. I was just trying to keep some kind of control over what was happening, and you an’ Shane didn’t make it very easy, always trying to punch each other -- or me, for that matter. You say what I do now is wrong, but Daryl, can you honestly say you weren’t wild back then? You used to blow a fuse in a microsecond, you know you did. I’m a cop, I’m trained to handle violent people, and I always was pretty good at the whole calm-voice-soothing-body-language approach, so yeah, I tried it with you, and it _seemed_ to work. I don’t even want to think what a huge mistake it was, what a godawful miscalculation. How I offended you, simply because I just didn’t bother to _think_.”

Rick turned towards Daryl, leaned his hip on the platform.

“It was out of necessity but honestly, I had no idea you felt it was… demeaning, somehow. You never said anything, you went along with it, so I never stopped to question it, and that’s my fault. But Daryl, why did you wait so long to say something?”

The hunter shrugged a shoulder, awkward because he didn’t have a good answer to that.

“Dunno. Things change, y’know.”

Rick quirked an eyebrow, understood more than Daryl himself dared to.

“ _You_ ’ve changed, you mean?”

Another half-shrug; Daryl turned to Rick and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, didn’t want to seem defensive and unsure (which he was -- just didn’t want to _seem_ that way!). 

“Might be. Look, Rick… could be I’s pretty feral back then, could be this whole hush-li’l-baby thing was what I kinda needed… but I ain’t the same anymore, _we_ aren’t the same… are we?”

“No we aren’t.” Rick smiled.

“It feels like you’re _handling_ me, like I’s some kinda freaked-out toddler havin’ a goddamn temper tantrum. It don’t feel nice, Rick.”

“I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity in those eyes just blew Daryl’s mind. It tripped his damn tongue and made him blurt out stuff.

“Rick, I’m here ‘cause I wanna be here, an’ I ain’t going nowhere. But I ain’t a kid an’ I ain’t a pet, so don’t shush me, don’t _handle_ me. You don’t need to, ya just need to _look_ at me, say what you want me to do. I’d follow ya anywhere, I’d do anything for you, you _know_ that.”

Daryl’s face flushed. Rick looked at him and it was such a fond look Daryl _had_ to look away.

“Hey,” said Rick, and put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Hey, look at me, ok?”

Daryl squinted at him. “Yeah?”

“I try to do better. And for the record, it was never my intention to belittle you. Never crossed my mind -- never felt any need to do something like that.” 

He chuckled. The sound made the corner of Daryl’s mouth curl up just a little -- maybe this would turn out alright. Still friends, still partners-in-arms, still close.

Rick’s hand was heavy on his shoulder.

Yeah. Close. Daryl’s hands trembled, fingertips brushed Rick’s jeans.

Real close.

Merle would say stuff. 

Daryl ordered his flittering thoughts back to home base.

“Whatcha laughin’ about?”

“Just thinking about the winter.”

“An’ that’s funny because…?” Daryl quirked an eyebrow. The winter sure hadn’t been a walk in the park. But it was nice, hearing Rick laugh.

“Seem to remember an awful lot of times when you shushed me in no uncertain terms. Clapped a hand on my mouth a few times. Told me to shut up. Snorted at the way I walk because, and I quote, I ‘could double as the fuckin’ T-Rex that made the glass wobble in that Jurassic flic’. And all those times you gave me a piece of your mind ‘cause I’d walked all over deer tracks or whatever... you can be damn eloquent sometimes, Daryl Dixon.”

Rick didn’t sound mad, his grin was wide, mirth danced in his eyes. The flush on Daryl’s cheeks deepened. 

They never learned about it, but Carol had come looking for Rick -- something about arranging the next run -- but she turned away the second she saw the two men standing so very close to each other, flush on Daryl’s face, Rick’s hand on the hunter’s shoulder. She dearly hoped those two would finally get their shit together. 

She closed the door quietly and went back down. The discussion about the run could wait a bit longer.

Somewhere in the periphery of Rick’s vision, the specter of Lori flickered into being, distracting him. It tilted its head and urged him to go on. His grip tightened on Daryl’s shoulder and the man shot him a questioning look. 

Rick let go off him. Sometimes he could do the stupidest things.

“Ain’t no-one called me eloquent before.” Daryl gave a good-natured snort, shook his head and the messy bangs fell in an even greater disarray. 

Rick didn’t miss the opportunity to get his hands back on the hunter, didn’t give it a second thought, didn’t question this _need_ , not for a single moment. His fingers trailed through the hunter’s hair, again and again. 

Did he ever wonder why Daryl let him do that? You’d asked the people downstairs, they would’ve snorted and giggled and said ‘hell no!’, because they knew Rick. They knew Rick wasn’t much for proactive introspection, which was why -- as Carol or Maggie would point out, rolling their eyes, bored out of their minds with their auspicious-but-thickheaded leader -- this was taking fuckin’ AGES. 

“Well, ain’t that swell -- you learned a new thing about yourself today,” was Rick’s cheeky answer as he forced his arm down again. “And don’t try to change the subject, I ain’t done with you yet! You lectured me about ordering you around, and I hear ya, I admit my mistake -- but I’m not the only one who just points his finger and without even a look just _expects_ me to scurry along, no questions asked.”

Daryl was taken aback, wanted to say something, but Rick grinned at him. “Shush now,” he teased, and laughed out loud at Daryl’s mock-affronted scowl. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ya mean it though? What ya said about-”

“Yeah, I mean it.” Rick shifted, changed the weight from one foot to the other, and the shift brought their hands together, a light touch, warm, barely there.

“Don’t get me wrong, Daryl, I meant none of it in a bad way. I get now that I went too far, and I’m sorry. But there’s also something really nice in the way you an’ I can read each other. Back when we questioned Michonne, it was that trust that made you lower your crossbow, follow me from the room. And when you boss me around with barely a scowl to my direction, I follow you ‘cause _I_ trust _you_. You know that, right? So it’s not all bad?”

“Hunh.” Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek. The hunter hadn’t thought about it that way.

“You asked why it’s you and no-one else, Daryl. It’s _because_ it’s you. You’re the only one I trust like that. Maybe I did it wrong, and obviously I did ‘cause I offended you...but maybe something in me felt I’d get away with doing that with you, and you alone, simply because it’s you an’ me, and we _get_ each other.” 

It was almost like Rick was musing to himself, forgetting the other man was listening; Rick chuckled quietly and muttered something like “talk about frickin’ _compatibility_ ” _\--_ but Daryl probably just heard wrong. He watched Rick, fascinated by this tweak in the point of view, in the way Rick talked about the whole thing. 

Seemed like they’d both got it a bit wrong. Could be Daryl had been too hasty to interpret Rick’s actions in a bad way; could be that after almost a year on the road together, Rick should’ve known Daryl better and modified his approach. 

This was now, however, and they could decide to keep only the best parts of their interaction. How in tune they were with each other. How well they worked together. How much they trusted each other. How far they’d go to ensure the other one’s well-being. 

It had been a strange year, to say the least. Walkers be damned, this was even weirder, Daryl thought. This friend thing. Sorting out differences with kind smiles and gentle touches -- no bruises, no hurtful words, nothing to fear in fact. Was this how it was supposed to be? No wonder it was such a big deal, having a friend. 

Suddenly it was too much for a Dixon -- too hard to swallow, too hard to breathe, too weird to stand like this, too wrong to be this comfortable with all the skin contact. He barged away and was almost at the door when the bewildered leader caught him.

“ _Now_ what, Daryl?” Rick asked, half exasperated, half amused. “You don’t get to leave like that, not yet.”

Rick liked to touch people. He asserted his authority, established his alpha status with a gentle or a forceful touch, whatever worked best in any given situation -- and he showed the complete spectrum of warm feelings with a touch. Always, always with the touching!

Only at that very moment, with Rick’s hands gripping both his arms, with Rick’s gaze pinning him down, did Daryl truly get what Rick had meant before. All that crap about communicating without words, without glances even, and for sure without hesitation… it wasn’t just about _commanding_ or _handling_ or whatever. That sort of thing required _intimacy_ , and what was a Dixon supposed to do with that information?

This particular Dixon took a step forward, courageous like never before. But then -- because what went up, must come down, remember? -- the courage failed. 

“I ain’t yours to command,” he mumbled, repeating himself, voice lacking vehemence. The man stood rigid, rooted to the spot in front of Rick, his body not responding to the closeness in the least -- but his eyes weren’t hard at all.

Later, they could’ve sworn they’d _heard_ everything fall into place -- the faint _ding-ding-ding_ of cherries falling into a pretty little row, the _click_ of the machine signaling a jackpot.

“You sure about that?” Rick asked, his confidence ebbing and flowing. Funny how it felt different now, the warm skin under his palms. Funny how he suddenly understood what the dutifully disregarded part of himself had been trying to tell him for days, well, probably for months if he was honest with himself and not encumbered with the guilt over how things had turned out with Lori.

It was like Rick had learned a new language overnight.

“Do you mind?” 

There was an embedded question in there, lurking between the words, floating on the tone of Rick’s voice. Daryl felt a bit stupid. He thought he knew what it was Rick was asking, but then again… His lack of experience hadn’t bothered him none before, but of course Grimes had to go an’ turn that upside down too, because why not, ‘s not like Rick hadn’t done that to everything else as well! He had to make sure what Rick meant so that he wouldn’t make himself an even greater fool by tryin’ to, y’know, step _even closer_. An’ stuff.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whatcha wanna do?”

A rumble of a low chuckle. The hair on Daryl’s arms stood up at the sound, not because it was threatening but because it...so _wasn’t_. There was anticipation and tentative happiness in that sound, and Daryl pretty much really, truly _knew_ what Rick was going to answer.

“I’d very much like to kiss you.”

“Uh-huh?”

“You ok with that?”

“Uh-huh.” _Rick said I’m eloquent. Goes to show what he knows._

Rick took one last, tiny step closer, slid his hands up, threaded his fingers in Daryl’s hair. His nose nudged Daryl’s, the unprecedented contact making the hunter gasp in surprise. A warm ripple of breath tickled his face.

“Tilt your head a little,” Rick’s words fluttered against Daryl’s lips.

Not like Daryl hadn’t kissed before, ‘cause he had. Not much choice what with the company Merle had kept, a few girls always lounging on their ratty couch, and Merle with his beady eyes watching that his kid brother was a good Dixon and did what was expected of him. So there’d been a certain amount of drunken mouths and drunken tongues and fumbling hands. That experience -- if you could call it that -- wasn’t useful now, but Daryl forgot to worry, forgot to be bashful about it. Rick overwhelmed him, and a tear prickled under his closed eyelids. Because, _damn_. 

Rick’s mouth moved against Daryl’s, slow and gentle and curious. They sampled the tastes, shuddered at the tickle of the short beards, and were equally surprised to notice that they had somehow managed to become glued against each other, Daryl’s arms wrapped around Rick, Rick’s hands trying to touch as much of Daryl as he could, sliding in his hair, on his neck, down his back, pulling him closer, always closer.

Unlike in chaste fairy tales, these men were flesh and blood, and it didn’t matter how much Rick had experience or how little Daryl had of it -- their bodies knew what was what, recognized the heat and the allure, and reacted.

Daryl didn’t put the feeling in those poetic words. The scorching chaos in his mind simply sent out a resounding _Yes!_ when his hardening cock rubbed against Rick’s.

“Good God, Daryl…” The words shattered into a low moan, and Rick panted in Daryl’s mouth. 

The hunter picked up the tiny slivers of his willpower and pressed his forehead against Rick’s.

“‘m guessin’ this ain’t exactly the right place for this kinda thing?” he asked, sort of hoping Rick would overrule his doubts. A little bit of _handling_ sounded perfectly ok right about now.

But somebody could come, they’d been here for quite some time already. So Rick shook his head, rubbed Daryl’s neck with fond fingertips, and kissed him one more time because he couldn’t _not_ kiss him. 

Daryl ran his tongue over his lips, puffed and slick from all the kissing and nipping and sucking. They took a step back from each other.

You’d think that Daryl would’ve wanted to bolt after exposing himself like that. After being wide open and vulnerable, revealing every single feeling he had towards Rick. Because it must’ve been glaringly obvious to Rick -- Daryl hadn’t kissed like a man wanting to get laid, quick an’ dirty. He’d kissed like a man in love. 

You’d think that Rick would’ve been ashamed of having feelings towards _anyone_ this soon after Lori, not to mention _showing_ those feelings. But he hadn’t loved her like a man should love his wife for a long time now. Yes, he’d been devastated after Lori’s death, she was Carl’s mother and her death was a tragedy. They’d been so close to patching up their relationship, although not like Lori had hoped because Rick had seen no way to salvage their marriage. Still, they could’ve loved each other as friends. This thing with Daryl though, it wasn’t what had fractured the marriage, so why should Rick feel any shame? Rick had done nothing wrong, broken no vows, gone behind no-one’s back. Maybe there still was a chance for happiness in this world, nevermind the walkers and the apocalypse, and Rick sure as hell wouldn’t hesitate to seize it. 

A wisp of hair had stuck on Daryl’s face, following the line of the high cheekbone. Rick wondered if the man had any clue how devastatingly beautiful he was. 

They should get going but it was hard to stop touching. Rick couldn’t resist, he ran a finger over the lock of hair, down the side of Daryl’s neck, coasted the tempting line of his clavicle that peeked from under the collar of the threadbare shirt. 

“If ya don’t stop with the touchin’, we ain’t gonna go nowhere,” Daryl said, voice shaking just a little. “Just sayin’.” 

He wasn’t doing that well with the non-touching either, so he was hardly one to talk. Daryl’s palm glided down Rick’s arm, over the rolled-up sleeve, over the warmth of the forearm, bumped at the wristwatch, ended up taking hold of his hand. Daryl’s fingers stuttered at the feel of the wedding ring.

They didn’t talk about it. Not the right time, yet. Soon, maybe. Mostly, it was something Rick had to do on his own, alone. Daryl didn’t mind -- the fact that the ring was still on Rick’s finger, after all those months of divorce in all but the legal sense, after Lori’s death, well, to Daryl it was a sign of Rick’s loyalty, and Daryl valued loyalty over most everything. He trusted Rick to do what felt right _when_ it felt right.

Rick laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. Daryl’s heart gave a silly little flutter. He leaned forward and kissed Rick. It was a light brush of lips, and it was the first kiss Daryl ever had initiated -- at least without any alcohol dulling his senses, or without Merle standing guard, watching that li’l bro was acting like a real man. He might actually like this kissing business now that he had someone he wanted to kiss, someone who welcomed his kisses. He didn’t regret anything, didn’t mourn the lost decades of voluntary kisses, because those decades hadn’t had Rick, and the whole point of kissing was kissing _Rick_ , not anyone else. 

Rick sighed. “We gotta go,” he said, mouthing the words against Daryl’s hot, inviting lips.

The hunter grunted and pulled back, gave a shy smile as he drew Rick towards the door. Rick wondered if Daryl was going to hold his hand all the way down to the common room. Daryl wondered the exact same thing.

The dauntless archer lost his nerve half-way through the corridors. They’d pass by Merle’s cell, and he wasn’t ready for that. He gave a quick, apologetic sideglance to Rick as he slid his fingers free.

“It’s ok,” Rick said, and Daryl recognized a smile in his voice.

Even without the handholding, Merle had quite enough to say about _Daryleena_ and _Officer Friendly_ , but Rick didn’t bother to grace the older Dixon with a reaction, and Daryl settled with giving him the finger.

When they entered the common room, Carl was feeding Judith, and Hershel was checking up on the state of bruises and cuts on Glenn’s face. Michonne still hadn’t given up the whole wary-glowery-frowny thing and was sitting alone on the stairs fiddling with her sword. The others were chatting as they sat by the long table, cleaning guns or, in Beth’s case, trying to learn to twirl a small dagger without accidentally cutting herself. In a word, nobody paid too much attention to the two men -- especially as Carol elbowed Maggie in her side hard enough to make her gasp. She hadn’t had any choice, Maggie had been on the verge of _making a comment_ , and Carol would protect those two absolute idiots at all costs.


End file.
